Saturday, February 27, 2010

And So It Begins

Last night I branched out.  For the past several weeks, Friday night means the start of a two day couch marathon.  Not sure what is going on there, but I have never been so exhausted (mentally, physically, emotionally) in my life.  Since I have once again sworn off dating, I revisit that familiar no social life void each week and hang out there until Monday.  It was awesome for the first couple of weeks, I must admit.  Just me and my dog, reading magazines, watching "Real Housewives" marathons, rewatching old movies.  Steady doses of Advil PM to induce the dreamy coma like state.  But, I noticed something a couple of weeks ago.  I have become a recluse.  Not answering the phone.  Hoping to God no one knocks on my door (not that I would answer).  Turning all the lights off so that people will think I am not home and just keep on driving.  I am not reclusive by nature, so I knew something was wrong.  What to do??

I have been saying for a long time that all I really needed was some girlfriends.  Not a date.  Not a boyfriend.  Nothing but some good old fashioned hens.  Real ones...not internet buddies, not coworkers, but real live people to have coffee with.  I didn't Petition The Universe on this one, because I felt I had complete control of this situation and I hesitate to ask for something that I could do for myself (once again placing limits on prayer).  So, I made an effort.  I joined an aerobics class.  I made up a group on facebook.  I joined Meetup.com.  And...yesterday, my efforts finally paid off. 

A just moved to Collierville, TN, a suburb of Memphis (in the opposite direction of Covington, where I live).  She graduated from the same college as me in rural west Georgia.  For those of you who have ever transplanted yourself to a new place, you know the excitement of meeting someone in the new place who has ties to the old place.  This rarely happens for me, as I have only met 2 other people in Memphis who had any idea about where I am from (in case you are interested...I was raised in LaGrange, GA and went to college in Carrollton, GA UWG).  A knows.  So, when she invited me out for dinner last night, I was excited...for a minute.

Then, my couch screamed at me.  "HEY!!! WHAT ABOUT ME??".  My dog looked at me as though I had just eaten all of her doggy snacks.  I think even the last leftover Valentine's Day flower wilted a little.  Then, finally, the voice.  The voice in my head (not the schizophrenic kind) chimed in.  "Kelly, dear, you aren't really considering driving all the way to Memphis to meet this chic when you are about to be unemployed and broke, and it's Friday...you are tired, you need rest.  Call her and cancel. Save your gas and your cash" You know, I just realized that "the voice" sounds exactly like my mother!  No No No No.  I snapped.  Last weekend was the LAST weekend that I was going to waste, sitting around rotting.  I went on ahead with my social self. 

A and I drank wine and laughed loudly.  It was AWESOME!  She could totally relate to my homesickness.  We even lived in the same dank dark dorm, though not at the same time.  When I mentioned how nasty the showers were, she knew exactly what I was talking about.  We lamented the absence of Publix in the Memphis area (sorry, Schnuck's...you just don't cut it).  I reassured her that Memphis will likely wrap it's grimy fingers around her and keep her here.  She wasn't so sure, but hey, it happened to me.  And when it was time to settle up, her authentic Coach purse made an appearance and I knew that we were going to be fast friends.  What was even more reassuring, we related very well to each other in the present.  And, now I have plans for the next two weekends!  Let the branching begin. 

As I was driving home, I tried to sing along with the radio and realized that my voice was hoarse.  That is something that I am not used to, talking so much that my voice runs out.  I made it home at a fairly early hour, changed my clothes and curled up on the couch with my latest read ("Committed" by Elizabeth Gilbert...SCORE!).  My dog jumped up on the couch and barked at me, as if to say, "Thank God you are back home.  Where have you been? What have you been doing? Who have you been talking to? What did y'all talk about? Are you going to do this every weekend? Why are you wasting your time with women when you could be out with a guy?"  It was then that I realized, my dog's voice sounds exactly like my mother's.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Running Into Myself

Choices.  Decisions.  Paths.  These things have been on my mind lately.  Seems I am faced (blessed?) with the task of choosing whats next.  As in, what happens now?  Now that I will be unemployed (unencumbered) in two weeks.  Now that I am 100% single (but not so much ready to mingle).  Now that I am starting to make friends (slowly but surely).  In the book of life...what will my next chapter be about?

I have a theory (disclaimer: I may have stolen this theory, I have had it for so long I don't remember how I came up with it) about what happens when choices are made.  When I make a choice, and go in a different direction, there is still one of me left behind to live out the path not chosen.  Not like a ghost, but moreso like an alternate universe Kelly.  For instance, somewhere in western Georgia there is a 35 year old woman living in a shitty marriage with some shitty kids, slaving away at a shitty job so that she can afford their shitty house.  There is also a 35 year old woman living in a condo in downtown Memphis, going out all the time, living it up.  Also, behold the 35 year old woman stationed in Kabul, dressed in fatigues, writing letters home to her parents.  These are all me.  The Me's I left behind.  I chose to shed the shitty marriage, give up my awesome downtown apartment in order to move in with my boyfriend, and practically deserted the military.  I believe that none of these Me's are any happier or worse off than I am, right at this moment. 

I wonder though, will I ever run into myself?  I see women who could be me all the time.  The chick pushing the buggy full of snotty kids at Schnuck's.  The woman strolling hand in hand with her handsome boyfriend at Overton Park.  The briefcase toting, french twist wearing, sensible heeled woman rushing to board her flight.  These all could be my left behinds.  My What If's.  My Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda's.  And, are they looking at me?  If so, what do they see?  35 year old woman dressed in jeans and a tee shirt with an expensive purse and frown lines.  I wonder if I would represent "Phew, boy am I glad I chose differently", or "Damnit, I should have chosen differently."  I have a difficult time believing that my life would cause envy in the heart of anyone; but, then again, I have envied woman pushing snotty kid buggy a few times. 

There was a movie several years ago that addressed this conundrum, "Sliding Doors" starring Gwyneth Paltrow.  I enjoyed the concept far more than the actual film.  In the end, she meets herself and made a choice based on the benefit of knowing how it all turns out.  Lucky her.  I guess I don't really need to know how it will all turn out, but I would love to have a get together with all the not chosens.  What a crowd we would be!!  Probably the only thing we would have in common would be our age.  But it would be so entertaining to learn what happened to me had I dropped out of college to attend beauty school (like I had wanted to).  Who is the woman that turned a blind eye to her husband's drinking all so that she could enjoy the double income.  How did it turn out for the woman who beat the woman that took away Best-Boyfriend-Ever to a bloody snotty pulp? 

Basically, what it boils down to is, the person I am today is the product of all the choices, big and small, that I made.  That seems to add a lot of pressure to an already tense situation (What am I going to do with myself?), but really it doesn't.  Whatever I choose to do, see, hear, buy, taste, ride, say, kiss, read, accept, turn down...there will be a Me left behind to experience the alternative.  So, I'm really not missing out on anything.  Which actually makes choosing a whole lot easier. 

And, I am comforted by the fact that at least one of my Me's is driving the titanium blue Mustang.  Hope I am enjoying it!

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Became A Fan

I do facebook.  Or, I have facebook.  Or, I look at facebook.  Either way, I visit facebook at least once every two hours, every day.  I like to keep my finger on the pulse of what is going on.  Who is now in a relationship?  Who is no longer in a relationship?  Who changed their profile lately?  Who added photos to the album "Me looking like an ass pony"?  Has anyone tried to contact me?  Is the boy who sat behind me in 6th grade math on Facebook yet?  Did someone throw a sheep at me?  What's for lunch at The Bald Butcher?? These are pressing issues for me.   

Sometimes, I log on to find that nothing has changed in the last couple of hours.  This saddens me.  It is then that I find myself looking at fan pages.  You know these....Herman became a fan of "I lick my contacts in a pinch".  Some of these fan pages are actually funny, so I join them...never to visit the page again.  Some things I am a fan of:  "Texting the Person Next To You Stuff You Can't Say Out Loud", "God Still Loves Me Even If I Don't Forward Those Text Messages", and "When I Was Little, I Watched Raindrops on the Window to See Which One 'Won'".  This morning, I was perusing some friends of friends of friends pages and came across another one, "I say 'Yeah, I Got It', Just So The Teacher Will Go Away".  I did this all the time.  Still do.  Someone tried to teach me how to use my gas fireplace last weekend and I said I understood just so that we could get up off the floor.  Next time it gets cold, I'm going to be in trouble. 

I thought about these fan pages this morning.  Who comes up with this stuff?  This stuff that we like to think is unique to each of us?  I always feel a certain "Damnit, I thought I was the only one" pang when I come across a good one.  So, after some contemplation, I have decided to add my unique situations here (too lazy to start a group on facebook).  These are things that I am fairly sure are unique to me.  Things that, if I met someone who also does these things, I would likely have to kill him/her because obviously he/she is my evil twin.  Enjoy!

Kelly became a fan of:

When I Was Little, I Drew Pictures of Naked People on the Underside of My Parent's Kitchen Table, and I Turned Out Ok.

When the Book I Want is in at the Library, I silently yell "SCORE" to myself. 

When I am Tired of Chatting, I Sometimes Close Out the Window and Later Blame it on "Damn Windows Vista".

I Don't Eat Discolored Potato Chips.

I Think Some Flowers Smell Like Fart.

I Fake Yawn When There Is a Lull in the Conversation.

I Stop Singing Along With the Radio When I Get Stopped at a Red Light.

At Open Casket Funerals, I Feel an Overwhelming Desire to Touch the Dead Person.

I Always Find Waldo, But I Have Yet to 'See' the Magic Eye Picture.

I Was a Grown Ass Woman Before I Got Up the Nerve to Watch the "Thriller" Video.

When The Light Turns Green, I Gun The Engine So That I Can 'Beat' My 'Opponent' Next to Me.


I Feel Guilty If I Pray While Half Listening to the TV and Then Lose My Train of Thought. 

I Sometimes Imagine My Dog Performing Human Acts While I am at Work (Making Hot Cocoa, Making The Bed, Reading My Books).

I Feel Superior to People When I Notice Blackheads, Cracked Heels, or a Wonky Fingernail.

It Blows My Mind When I Think About a Song and it Comes on the Radio Soon After.

So, there you have it, Gentle Readers.  A glimpse into my secret world.  Hope you enjoyed your stay there.  Feel free to add to this list in the form of a comment.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Petition The Universe

I am currently reading "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.  This book is awesome in a way that only a handful of other books can be.  Without sounding new age or fanatical, I do want to say that this book is life changing and profound.  Elizabeth Gilbert paints a face on emotions that all too often go unnamed, such as Depression, Loneliness, and Melancholy.  But, what is so great about her story is that while she paints a vivid picture of these spirit killing stalkers (if you read it, you know why I chose that word!), each story leaves me warm.  Not warm in a Nicholas Sparks (ugh) kind of way, but warm in a There's Hope For Me Yet kind of way.  It has shifted my focus from why not ME to why NOT me. Let me tell you, my focus has rarely been challenged. 

At the beginning of her journey, while stilled mired down in the depths of lowness that only an ugly divorce can bring, she is on a publicity tour, riding along in a car with a close friend (a running shoe--see earlier entry #2--someday I will figure out how to link).  This part struck me at first because I have been through a nasty divorce, with the same feelings of uncertainty and unhinging.  At first glance, I thought to myself, "Phffffft, if I was on my way to promote the book I wrote that was PUBLISHED, the last thing on my mind would be the bastard I was divorcing."  But, then I remembered.  Divorce is like cancer that has metastasized.  It's black fingers poke every aspect of life, no matter how far removed from the source.  Think brain cancer with toe mets.  Anyway, I went back and reread this passage.  She is lamenting to her friend about how much she wishes this divorce drama would just go away.  Her friend asks her if she has petitioned the universe for what she wants?  HUH?  Elizabeth, like me, thought it was far more noble and just for her NOT to ask the universe (God, Fate, Higher Power, Autumn, whatever) for what she wants...just for the strength to get through what she gets.  Her friend explains to her that there is absolutely nothing wrong with asking for precisely what she wants.  She is just as much part of the universe as everyone else and just as deserving.  After a little encouragement, Elizabeth composes her petition.  She prays for a quick end to the roiling drama of her bitter divorce.  After reading it to her friend, they then discuss who would sign it.  Pretty soon, the two women are adding names to this petition of people who would be happy to see the suffering end.  The list grows quickly.  Feeling empowered by the assumed goodwill of her close circle, Elizabeth soon begins to include supporters reaching as far away as the afterlife.  As bad as she was feeling, I found this entry hilarious.  She let her mind wander and let go of her misery for a moment.  Jim Henson signed her petition.  St Francis of Assisi signed it.  Michael J Fox just signed it.  And, why wouldn't they?  I guarantee you that if she had actually thrust her petition for peace in the face of anyone (save her estranged husband and his attorney), they would have signed it.  My first instict was, yeah...but that's her. 

I thought about how the idea that I wasn't supposed to ask/petition God for what I wanted formed.  I used to pray for these things all the time.  Please, God, let me pass that test.  Please, God, make that guy ask me out. Please, God, let me get my period.  But two things put an end to all that asking.  I had a Sunday school teacher when I was eleven who was well meaning, but it was apparent that she thought all children should still be dressed in bonnets and stumbling down the grassy hillside.  One Sunday, she gave a lesson on wasting God's time.  She explained to us that little prayers like the ones I prayed on an hourly basis were SELFISH.  Selfish prayers wasted God's time.  By asking for a good grade, I was taking God's attention away from a cancer patient praying for a cure.  And, did I really want to be burdened with that kind of guilt?  No.  So, although I didn't stop my selfish prayers, I did feel an extreme amount of guilt whenever I prayed them.  Mission accomplished, I suppose. 

The second thing actually did stop this practice.  After a breakup with what I now refer to as a minor boyfriend (in significance...not age), I was moping around for weeks.  One day, Terri, my best college friend, loaded me into her mustang convertible (who could be depressed in that car??) for a trip to WalMart.  I clicked my seat belt and let out a long sigh.  Terri turned to me and said, "You know, one time Noel and I broke up.  I was so distraught that I finally just prayed to God not to bring Noel back, but to give me the strength to get through it.  If we weren't supposed to be together, then please make it less painful, you know?  So, instead of wishing ya'll would get back together, you should wish for the recovery to be as painless as possible."  For whatever reason, what she said at that moment made a world of sense to me.  And thus began my practice of praying for as little pain as possible. 

The unintended result of this was my quickness to walk away from everything.  I never again wished for something to work out to my advantage, figuring that was SELFISH and likely to fall on deaf ears.  If God saw that I was simply only praying for pain tolerance, maybe he would be more likely to listen.  But you know, that hasn't really worked so well.  Also began my practice to pray for other people, as opposed to myself.  I figured this would boost my credibility as well.  Again, denying what I really wanted the universe to deliver to me in favor of just accepting what was dumped at my door.  The irony is that I got exactly what I asked for all along...I got crap dumped at my door.  How much time have I wasted asking for that???

WELL ENOUGH OF THAT.  After reading her passage, I put the book down and grabbed my pen.  I wrote out my petition.  What I asked for is irrelevant, at this point.  But, I made sure I was as detailed and specific as I could be. I didn't once mention, "but, if this isn't meant to be...then please make it as painless as possible".  Nope.  If it isn't meant to be, I won't get it and I will just have to think up something else to request.  And yes, I also compiled a list of people that I felt certain would sign my petition.  Who wouldn't want me to have what would make me happy?  My universe shifted as I thought of my fellow man as benevolent, not withholding.  I even added Elvis, for good measure.  I feel sure that if he were alive, Elvis would want me to have what I wanted.

After completing and filing her petition, Elizabeth took a nap.  She awoke to her cell phone ringing.  It was her lawyer.  A settlement had finally been reached.  It was over.  I'm sold.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Snow Day

I hate snow.  Sure, I enjoy a nice day off as much as the next person (and probably just a little more), but after several consecutive days...I am ready to tear my skin off.  Anyone who says they love snow has obviously never had to shovel their own driveway.  They have never been held hostage by the likes of Judge Judy, Joe Brown, Marilyn Whatsherface, and finally...Dr Oz.  They have never eaten 6 bowls of cereal, because that is all they have in the house.  Anytime I hear someone say "Oh I hope it snows!" or any variation of such, I want to throat punch the moron. 

I have said it before and I will say it again: I have never missed out on anything because it was too sunny.  Ever.  I have never said, "Yeah, sorry, I can't.  I can't back my car down my driveway because it is too hot."  I don't feel the least bit guilty about missing work.  Maybe if my job was even remotely fulfilling, I might.  But, it isn't and I don't care what happens at that Hellhole while I'm not there.  I have a coworker who will come to work no matter the natural disaster and then tries to make me feel guilty for laying out.  WHATEVER.  She is wasting her time.  I think her concept of loyalty is retarded, and my car and my own safety is worth way more to me than that crappy job.  And what they don't know is, I will likely go in tomorrow (Wednesday), but then will be taking Thursday off (job interview). 

If I had a large snow shovel, I would get out there right now, while it is still soft, and shovel tracks down my driveway.  I would then back my car out, go to McDonald's and get a hotcakes/sausage breakfast.  Next would be a stop at the Redbox.  Then, into Walgreen's for some fresh magazines and maybe some new nail polish.  Oh, and a pack of smokes.  That's right, smokes.  I quit, true enough, and I am wearing my nicotine patch...but there is something about being cooped up that makes me want to smoke a cigarette as long as a telephone pole.  Any other day, it really isn't that bad.  I would also buy some canned chili.  On the way home, I would stop at the library and get a couple of books ("Staying True" is at the top of my list).  Returning home with my loot, I eat my McD's breakfast and settle into the corner of my couch with my media.  After dozing off for a while, I would make some chili and a grilled cheese and then settle back into the corner of my couch with my media.  Rinse and repeat all day.

Too bad I don't have a snow shovel.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Oh What A Night

Who knew that the story of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons was so riveting?  I saw "Jersey Boys" yesterday at The Orpheum Theatre in Memphis.  I was supposed to see the show the previous Saturday, but was snowed in.  The Orpheum graciously exchanged my ticket and I felt sheepish about all those mean comments I put on their facebook page (which I did NOT go back and delete...integrity). 

I was shown to my seat and immediately, much to my chagrin, I discovered that I was seated right smack dab in the middle of an "Idiots Go To Town" group.  That's what I get for my one ticket status (how many times on the way up to the upper gallery was I asked, "Just one ticket?").  These folks came over from some far away place (Forest City, Union City, Yazoo City...who the hell knows) and were busy making plans for dinner after the show.  I wanted so badly to direct them to the nearest Danvers, but thought better of it.  The lights went out and the show started.

What a FABULOUS show.  I am probably the only 35 year old woman who can name most of the Four Season's hits and I have loved Frankie Valli's nasal voice my whole life.  The show told of the early struggles the band endured on their way to fame and fortune.  The pitfalls were just as exciting as the highlights.  I wonder how much of it is accurate.  Did they really sing "Sherry" to the producer over the phone?  Was "December 1963 (Oh What A Night)" really about a band mate's loss of virginity?  Was he really involved in a threesome???  Did they really say the F word back then?  Were they really in that much debt due to early deal making??  Who cares.  It was all awesome.  The dialogue was fresh and sarcastic, not at all cliched.  The musical numbers were excellent.  It was a festival of Guidos on stage! 

The Band of Idiots really enjoyed the show.  They enjoyed it so much that they held an impromptu cast tryout from their seats.  How loud were they singing along that I could hear them over The Orpheum's booming sound system??  I chalked it up to the law of nature...retards were going to be everywhere, blindly having their fun without regard to the people around them.  I wonder, if I had taken out a cigarette and enjoyed it, would they have been offended?  I bet the answer is yes, but hearing an off-key Frankie Valli wannabe all during the show was just as offensive.  When the first F bomb was dropped, the sharp intake of breath robbed me of oxygen.  I hope they enjoyed their dinner at the Butcher Shop on Beale.  I could have corrected them, the Butcher Shop is actually on Front, but I figured what they really needed was a trip down Beale and back looking lost and white. 

The show ended with the group's reunion at their induction to The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, performing "Who Loves You" (my favorite).  The cast was excellent, the Orpheum staff was excellent, the Band of Idiots...well, whatever, all in all...A Saturday well spent!  Oh and Frankie Valli...you are still on the list.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Author's Note

After reading over my previous entries, I decided to add a note as a sort of disclaimer.

1.  Initially, I intended to be an anonymous blogger.  I have since seen the error of my ways.  So, now you know who I am and can probably just as easily find where I live.  Just remember, the internet is a fabulous thing, and I can just as easily find you should I find something offensive spray painted on my house. 

2.  To my friends, family, coworkers...I mean no harm.  I will try to change names to protect the innocent (and guilty), but I do want to preserve the integrity of my experiences and opinions.  If you see yourself (or think you do) in a post, don't take it too seriously, I was only having fun at your expense.  You should be used to that by now.

3.  I may say something random in my posts, such as "Lady Gaga shows her private parts on The Jersey Shore".  I am only doing this to draw traffic to my blog (although I would watch the shit out of that, should it happen).  More traffic means more potential income.  More income means less work.  Less work means more time to sit around and pontificate. More time pontificating means more awesome stuff for you to read.  Everybody wins.

4.  I will post all comments.  But, in turn, I will also reply to all comments.  Publicly.  So, choose your words carefully, because trust me...I will win. 

5.  Everyone who reads subscribes to my blog, or retweets the link will receive a check from me.  Well, maybe not a check but, a shout out.  Ok ok, maybe not even that.  But, you will receive my gratitude.  And that is a guarantee.

There you have it.  My disclaimer.  Now, enjoy!

The Hollis Gillespie Academy of Superb Blogging

So, that's not what it is really called; but you get the picture.  I have loved Hollis since the colorful jacket of "Bleachy Haired Honkey Bitch" caught my eye at Davis Kidd several years ago.  I bought the book, judging it by it's cover and title alone, and devoured it in hours.  I was thrilled to learn that Hollis would be appearing at the above mentioned bookstore, signing copies.  I had never attended a book signing before, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't for losers.  Hollis wore a bright pink jacket and I loved her immediately.  She gave a brief talk about the subject of her book (herself) and then seated herself at a table to sign the books of the 30 people that were there.  I was nervous as I approached her, I felt like Hollis had basically written down all the shit that I ran as an inner running commentary ticker for years; but was too unorganized to write down...and not nearly as eloquent as she.  She was loud, brash, and hilarious!  She wrote something completely inappropriate in my book, I don't recall it and I am far too lazy to go looking for it, and I floated right on out of there.  She has since signed another of her books for me and added me as a friend on Facebook.

This is how I learned of her webinar.  I am sooooo not the webinar kind, but neither is she, so I figured it couldn't be all bad.  I shelled out the money and marked my calendar.  The actual webinar was held at 2pm, while I was at work, but a video replay was offered afterward.  I could hardly sit still that day at work, knowing that when I got home...all amounts of genius was going to be bestowed upon me.  I have started and maintained various blogs over the years; eventually losing interest in them. 

Now I know why.  I haven't been writing about things that interest me.  I have treated my blogs as more of a journal, not putting information out there.  What am I selling to the throngs of blog readers?  My inner most secrets?  I don't think so.  What I intend to put out there is my humor and unique perspective on all sorts of things.  But, according to Hollis, I need to reign it in.  Focus.  And so, that is what I have been doing since the webinar.  Focussing.  What interests me?  What am I passionate about?  My friends tell me I am a great story teller; what stories do I want to tell?  I don't care so much about appealing to the masses.  I want to hit someone upside the head, like Hollis did me all those years ago. 

So, my passions.  I feel sheepish even typing that.  Let's see, I am passionate about not getting over my last boyfriend.  I am passionate about cheating on quitting smoking.  I am passionate about Steely Dan music.  I am passionate about silently insulting people.  I am passionate about my 7 year old dog.  Starting home projects and then becoming unmotivated halfway through is my thing.  Making lists of how I will spend the gobs of money that are, so far, just out of reach is something I am on fire for.  See how hard "focus" is for me? 

Hollis Gillespie inspired me.  Since the webinar, I have applied to grad school (and was accepted...provisionally), and interviewed for a new job.  So, although I haven't (yet) dazzled the world with my kick ass blogging, I have been ass kicked into gear with my life.  Moving forward is another passion.  I will continue honing my skills, while taking aim at all sorts of targets...until I find the "one thing".  And when I do...you better have a fresh cup of coffee and no where to be, you're gonna be here a while.

And, for more about Hollis Gillespie, read about her latest shining moment:
http://www.atlantamagazine.com/blogs/inappropriate/blogentry.aspx?BlogEntryID=10093522